The Greatest Moment -- Jennie

“Was the greatest moment of your life when you married Daddy?” my nine-year old daughter, Daney, asks with big blue eyes.

I want to say, “Yes.”

Everyone who knows me knows that I’m in absolute adoration of my husband.

And our wedding was amazing—perfect, even.

But I can’t say that it was the greatest moment of my life.

A once-in-a-lifetime experience with him surprised me in New York City. Our family was enjoying the last half-hour of a firefighting museum in SoHo, when Daney grabbed my hand and said, “You have to come with me! Something’s wrong with Daddy.” She pulled me into an almost-bare room with two arches plastered by the faces of 911’s fallen heroes, and there was Dave, his baseball hat clutched at his chest, his chin tucked, his cheeks wet.

There was nothing to say. I let go of Daney’s hand and she skipped off to another exhibit, while I stood by my husband of 15 years in silence and sadness and shock.

He had never cried like that over anything.

Then there was the time I served pizza in my dad’s kitchen to my brother and his friends, who were scripting their Valedictorian speeches. They chewed and thought and talked and invented an unusually collaborative graduation speech. Those kids had worked twelve years toward this opportunity, and after they delivered, they would be scattered around the world.

I knew the invincibility, the friendships that would vanish. But they didn’t know it. They had this certain time together, and it was the only thing that mattered to them.

I’ve felt that way, too.

When Paul McCartney belted out “Let it Be” in Berkeley, I wished those notes, the lighters, the feeling would last forever. In a way, it has. I remember it like it was yesterday.

Last year, within seconds, my kids’ music teacher stuck them on keyboards, guitar, and tambourines, as a boy and his sister we’d never seen before plunked away at the piano.
Suddenly, five young musicians were playing and singing “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.” Dylan would have loved it as much as I did.

There are many moments—my ten-year old sister’s singing “The Heart Will Go On” at our mom’s funeral, the entire fire department’s calling to say that Dave tested at the top of the hiring list, publishing my first piece, drinking a cup of Christmas coffee when I was a little girl—that have been great.

“What was the greatest moment in your life?” I ask my husband.

“The day you married me,” he says.

Gulp.